


This Is How You Argue

by runningwafers



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Architects, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anxiety, Architecture school AU, Casual Sex, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Graduate School, Hate Sex, M/M, Minor Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sharing a Bed, Steve takes things very personally, Take Your Fandom to Work Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 01:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7019890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runningwafers/pseuds/runningwafers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is a very reasonable, down-to-earth architecture student in his last year of his Master’s program. Not like that asshole Bucky, with his pretentious design ideas and penchant for arguing. They don’t exactly get along.</p><p>(Architecture School AU for the Take Your Fandom to Work Day challenge on Tumblr.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is How You Argue

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: There's a quite a bit of architecture talk. I don't really think it's critical to understanding this fic, though. If anybody has questions or would like any explanations, please let me know. Also, there's mention of an anxiety attack.

8:00 A.M. classes in the architecture department should be outlawed. Steve was sure the attendance rate for his morning History of Western Architecture II class was half of what is was for afternoon classes. He usually sat with Sam and Angie, but both of them had still been in studio when he left last night at two in the morning, so he didn’t expect to see them. Steve was too much of an overachiever to ever skip class if he could help it, but as his leg jittered against his desk from overcaffeination, he wondered if it was worth it. He was running on 80% coffee and 20% sheer willpower, and he couldn’t handle a crash this close to final review.

The professor was covering Olmsted and the development of landscape architecture, so Steve could afford to tune out, as he had landscape minor and knew it already. He sketched in his notebook to pass the time until the professor moved on to a new topic.

“Didn’t Beatrix Farrand also do designs for the Washington National Cathedral? You mentioned Bodley and Olmstead, but I thought she was involved as well.” The question came from Bucky, the only other student with an attendance record that matched Steve’s. Steve looked up from his notebook.

“Yes, I believe you are right,” the professor answered. “She did some of the initial site planning.”

“So why don’t we need to memorize her name, too?” Bucky pressed.

“A good point,” the professor agreed. “She was one of the first female landscape architects,” he explained, and then continued with his lecture.

Steve reluctantly admitted to himself that Bucky’s question was a good one, but he still felt his usual irritation at Bucky’s interruption. Bucky tended to interject his opinion in every lecture, and was one of three or four students in his year who never knew when to shut up. Didn’t he know that’s what discussions were for? He had an opinion on everything, and his opinions were generally terrible. Steve wondered what he was doing at a school with such pragmatic and down-to-earth design philosophies; he should be somewhere like Pratt because he was a prat and his ridiculous, conceptual renderings with no scale, context or room-labeling would fit in perfectly there.

When the clock finally struck 9:30 A.M. and class ended, Steve sighed with relief and debated whether or not it was worth going home for a nap. He had a plan and a wall section he wanted to finish for the pin-up the following day. Fuck it, he would be able to go home earlier if he trudged through. He went to grab a bagel from the coffee shop and headed up to studio.

His studio this term was a large room partially open to the hallway, split into two studios by a half-wall. Each contained a dozen or so desks, with large windows facing the courtyard. In the front of Steve’s studio sat a stained, sad-looking couch and a small makeshift kitchen, with various drawings and models strewn and pinned up along every available surface.

Steve bit back his groan when he realized Bucky was the only one there. Many of other students did their work solely on computers and worked at home, and while Bucky never took a pen out if he could help it, he did at least do all of his work in studio. Steve did the majority of his work by hand, at his desk with his large Mayline drafting board. He didn’t mind working in studio; he could never focus if he tried to work at home, and he appreciated keeping his work at school so he could relax when he was at his apartment. (Which almost never happened, but it was a nice thought.)

“Hey, Rogers,” Bucky said in greeting as Steve walked past his desk. Steve merely grunted in response. “How late were you here last night?”

“Two.”

“Brutal.”

Steve nodded and got his materials out, putting on his headphones and getting straight to work. He set an alarm for 12:30, as he tended to zone out and lose track of time, and he wanted to have time to grab food before his next class.

At some point (hours?) later, he sensed a presence next to his desk. He removed his headphones and tried to hide his frown as he saw it was Bucky.

“Are you seriously measuring out that perspective by hand?”

“Yeah…”

“Dude, this would take like 30 minutes to model in SketchUp.”

Steve clenched his jaw. “I’m developing my hand. If I model it, even just to use an underlay, I won’t get a sense for scale and proportion in the same way. We’re gonna be chained to computers for our entire careers after we graduate and none of us are going to be able to fucking draw, I want to be the exception.”

Bucky bit his lip, as if holding in a laugh. “You’re grumpy when you haven’t slept.”

“Who isn’t?”

Bucky pointed to himself. “Me,” he said. “I’m always extremely charming. You’d never know I’m running on eight hours of sleep in the past three days.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Right.” He put his headphones back on, signaling an end to the conversation. He didn’t look up from his desk until his alarm went off, and he noticed several other students were now at their desks. He walked over to Sam.

“Hey, want to grab lunch?”

Sam nodded. “I need a goddamn break. This section is kicking my ass, I can’t figure out the roof system.”

Steve took at look at his drawings. “Have you looked at Renzo Piano’s sketches?" he suggested. "He does great diagrams of his roof enclosures and ceilings, might be a good precedent.”

“Remember I also have to figure out how to model it,” Sam laughed. “I don’t want to do anything too complicated.” He looked at the pile of trace on his desk and frowned. “Whatever, I’ll figure it out later. Food court?”

Sam had been given a desk adjacent to Steve in their first year studio back in undergrad, and had been best friends ever since. Sam always had grand ideas at the beginning of the term that he would drastically simplify as deadlines loomed, but he was talented, and Steve respected his design approach. He was a bit more scatter-brained than Steve, but they made good study buddies, even though Sam never took his other classes quite as seriously as Steve did.

“Dude, have you seen Angie lately?” Sam asked, swallowing down a bite of his sandwich.

“She’s never around anymore,” Steve responded, frowning. “I don’t know when she’s actually working on studio. Maybe she’s not, she got torn apart at the last pin-up. I think she’s distracted with Peggy.”

Steve had dated Peggy for a year during undergrad, until he realized he was falling too hard in love to see her go back to England at the end of her studies. Neither of them were willing to upend their lives for the other, but they had a connection that was worth maintaining, and worked hard after the break-up to remain friends. Angie had developed a crush on Peggy early in school, and had internalized her feelings because she felt shitty for having them at all when she was supposed to be one of Steve's best friends. Steve had eventually realized it was unfair to keep Angie from acting on her feelings out of a sense of loyalty when they had been broken up for over a year, and had encouraged her to pursue Peggy. He was happy for her, really, when Peggy reciprocated her feelings, but it was hard not to feel a little bitter about it, anyway.

“Are you sure you're okay with it? That’s rough, man. You seem to be handling it well.”

Steve shrugged. “They’re good for each other.”

“No need to be so diplomatic,” Sam laughed. “I’d be fucking pissed in your position. You still hung up on her?”

Steve swallowed a bite of his sandwich. “It's been almost two years, I've come to terms with it.”

“Yet you haven't dated anyone since.”

“That's not-- maybe I just need a break. It's not like I have time, anyway. And I don't want to date anyone in architecture again, it's too...”

“Incestuous?”

Steve chuckled. “Something like that. Already every discussion I have with anyone is about architecture, but unfortunately I don't have enough time for a social life outside of it.”

“Don't I know it. Maybe Riley could hook you up.” Riley was Sam’s best friend from childhood and was in the journalism school. He was one of the few people Steve knew outside of the program. “His friend Eloise is hot and single, I bet you'd like her. She's into scrawny dudes.”

“Oh, um,” Steve started, ignoring the slight against his stature, “I was actually thinking I'd date guys for awhile?”

Sam didn’t miss a beat. “Dude, Riley can definitely hook you up.”

“Yeah?”

“For sure,” Sam nodded.

Steve picked at his meal and considered. “Maybe after finals?”

Sam clapped his hands, smiling. “Don't worry, bro, I'm gonna get you laid. I know you say you're over Peggy, but I think getting some dick would confirm it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve said, trying not to laugh.

They finished their meals and headed to their next class, sitting in their usual spot with Angie. There was comfort in always having the same set of students in lectures, but he had to admit that it could feel a little insular. Steve hadn’t taken a non-architecture class since undergrad a year and a half ago.

“You guys going to studio?” Sam asked after.

“Yup,” Steve answered. “Hope to be out of here before dinner.”

“An optimist.”

“I was thinking of just pinning up the sections I did last week. I’ve got an updated plan, but the section hasn’t really changed much,” Angie answered.

Steve rose his eyebrows at her. “The section that got torn apart last crit for the glare and daylight issues?”

“So I’ll sketch on some sun shades.”

“You’d be better off changing the orientation of the--”

“I’ll change it for final review. I need to live my life or I’m going to lose my remaining shreds of sanity.”

Both of them laughed. “You do you,” Sam said, patting her on the shoulder, “but if you get yelled at tomorrow, don’t say Steve didn’t warn you.”

“Good thing I’ve got thicker skin than you two,” she answered, grinning. “I’ll see you guys later.”

They waved her off and headed to studio. Steve put himself to work and within a few hours was thankfully satisfied with what he had to pin up. That meant he could actually do stuff for other classes for once, and maybe even get a decent night’s sleep.

By the time the crit came around the next day, though, Steve was starting to feel less confident about his design. Looking at it with fresh eyes, he realized the entry sequence was a mess, and his current scheme had derailed significantly from his initial parti.

“Your entry sequence is a mess,” Bucky said, after Steve had given his short presentation and the professor had given her initial thoughts. “It’s a museum, not an office park. You come in directly off the street and there’s barely any transition. Plus it’s off axis with the courtyard, but it doesn’t look like it’s intentionally so.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about that, I--”

“And you can hardly see your original parti in this iteration. Your idea is two masses coming together at an angle, but they have room to breathe in the initial sketch. Now they’re just shoved on top of each other, it’s inelegant.” He stood up and took a pen to Steve’s drawing. “What if the smaller mass came in like this, and you entered this way, perpendicular?” He sketched his intention. “It creates a break, and you avoid coming immediately into a huge volume without a transition, plus you get a peek at the courtyard without revealing the whole thing at once.”

Steve looked at the sketch and blinked. Goddammit, that was actually a good idea.

“I agree with Bucky,” another student added, and the discussions and criticisms continued for another fifteen minutes before moving to another student.

Afterward, as he was pinning down, the professor came up to him. “I know that crit was kind of harsh, but it’s only because your ideas are so strong. There’s a lot to respond to, and you’re getting really close to a great design. With a few tweaks, this will be the strongest project I’ve seen from you.”

Steve thanked her and headed to his desk, quickly sketching out the ideas that had come to him during the crit. He didn’t mind the harshness, it generated good ideas if it was constructive, but the way Bucky always had to interrupt him and draw over his meticulous hand drawings was insufferable.

They still had an hour left of official studio time, which was generally filled with working or informal desk crits. Occasionally other professors and students would stop by to offer critiques, and today Steve saw Alexander Pierce hovering over Sam’s desk. Alex was easily Steve’s least favorite professor in the department. He had the biggest ego and the worst design ethic, and didn’t give a shit about teaching as he had tenure and stayed at the school solely to pursue his research (which was, in Steve’s opinion, 95% bullshit). On top of that, he was constantly exploiting his students for free work and gave unnecessarily harsh reviews that were rarely helpful and often tear-inducing. Steve couldn’t hear what he was telling Sam, but he could see by Sam’s demeanor that it was nothing he found valuable.

“Helpful feedback?” Steve asked after.

“As always,” Sam replied, rolling his eyes.

Alex had turned to Bucky’s desk, and Steve’s groan was nearly audible as he imagined the pretentious conversation that was sure to follow. Bucky was one of Alex’s favorites and took on a bulk of his research. He was a part of a group of about six (white, male) students that was informally known as ‘the douche crew.’ All of them worked for Alex as research assistants or TAs. Steve had been at the same school since undergrad, and while the members of the douche crew changed, they were an ever-pervading force of grad students who took themselves too seriously and generally made other people miserable.

“You’re not going to get that internship if you don’t step it up,” Steve overhead Alex telling Bucky. “This facade system is passé.”

“I’m working on it, I want to integrate something like this.” He showed Alex something on his screen. “But detailing it and figuring out energy modeling is going to take a lot of time, I’m just not sure that I have--”

“Jasper has already modeled a facade system significantly more complex this term, it’s hardly impossible. I expect you to figure out and refine this, and I don’t want you slacking on your research, either, or your thesis proposal for next term. You can find a way to make it happen if you care enough. I’m sure there are other students who would be dying for the chance to work at a prestigious firm after graduation.”

Bucky took a steadying breath. “Of course. I’ll make it happen.”

“Good. Oh, and I need you to do crits for a pin-up next week. I’ve already let the other professors know you’ll be available.”

“When?”

“Four hours on Wednesday, two on Tuesday, both starting at 1:00p.m.”

“I’ve already got--”

“Are you saying you can’t make time?”

Bucky looked down at his desk and shook his head. “No, of course not, I can do it.”

Alex gave him a pat on the back and headed out of the studio. Sam and Steve watched him go with matching grimaces, and Steve noticed Bucky immediately had his head down and was back to working away at his computer.

“God, I don’t envy him,” Sam muttered. “What is the actual benefit to sucking up to that dude?”

“‘Prestigious internship,’” Steve replied. “I.e., working 60 hours a week for no pay doing grunt work to serve somebody else’s ego so that you get a big name on your resume.”

Sam agreed. They both knew how the field operated, but Steve was resolutely never going to work for a firm that abused their interns. He had his eyes on several more down-to-earth firms that he planned to apply at after graduation. Steve would abuse himself for the sake of architecture, but he was only going to do it on his own terms. His recent sleep schedule was evidence of that, but he was proud of the work he had achieved and the sanity he had maintained.

The next day, Steve’s only class was a discussion section for his History of Western Architecture II class. Since it wasn't a theory class, it was often more review of the material than actual debate, but Bucky was in his section and always seemed to find a way to squeeze in an argument.

Today he was fighting Steve about the connection between the modernist movement and fascist architecture during World War II. Steve had merely suggested that modernist design had continued to progress during the war (albeit primarily in the form of military facilities), that fascist architecture had its roots in modernism, and that it was impossible to talk about modern architecture without acknowledging both of those facts. Bucky had interrupted him and misconstrued his argument to imply that somehow _Steve_ was the one fabricating the link between the two.

“Corbusier was a fascist!” Steve argued, after Bucky had once again tried to derail his point.

“And yet Mies and Gropius fled Germany during the war because their design philosophies weren’t compatible with the Nazi regime.”

“Regardless, they--”

“To suggest that modernism owes something to the design philosophies embraced under fascism--”

“That’s not at all what I’m saying!”

“--completely undermines it as a movement, and…” Bucky continued to talk, but Steve decided to tune him out. He was furious, and it was in his best interest to drop the subject, especially if Bucky was going to refuse to see his actual point.

Eventually, the TA shifted topics, and Steve turned his attention back to the discussion. They were covering their term project, an illustrated essay and short presentation about a famous work of modern architecture they hadn’t studied in class.

“As it says on the syllabus, you’ll be working in groups of 2-3,” the TA announced. There were a collection of groans, one coming from Steve, as he had completely forgotten that part. “The groups were chosen randomly, please find your partner or partners and you can take the last fifteen minutes of class to discuss buildings you’d potentially like to study.” He pulled up a slide with a list of the groups and-- shit.

“Just can’t get enough of me this term, huh, Rogers?” Bucky said, walking over to his desk and taking a seat next to him.

“Someone has to suffer, might as well be me,” Steve muttered, eliciting a bark of a laugh from Bucky. “At least this project should be easy. What building do you want to study?”

“I was thinking Villa Mairea.”

Steve frowned. “Easily one of Aalto’s worst projects, it’s like a celebration of ostentatious wealth. There’s no clarity to the design, it’s incoherent.”

“It’s one of his most famous projects!”

“Famous doesn’t mean good, the Disney Concert Hall is famous.”

“Gehry’s a hack riding one good design, what else is new. Villa Mairea’s considered a masterpiece. You have to admit it’s at least influential.”

Steve wasn’t in the mood to argue anymore. “If you want to do Aalto, how about the Paimio Sanatorium?” he offered. “The history of sanatoriums in Europe is pretty fascinating.”

“Yeah, okay.” Steve looked up in surprise, he had been expecting more of a fight. “When do you want to get started?”

They agreed to wait to discuss it until the end of the week, when Bucky asked if he wanted to meet up on Saturday to work on their project. “I’m gonna be in studio anyway.”

Steve nodded. “Me too. Eleven?”

“There are no big immediate deadlines, I’m sleeping in until at least noon. Gotta take the sleep where I can.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Steve answered. It was weird talking to Bucky casually, he didn’t think they’d ever spoken to each other in anything but criticisms or arguments. “How about two?”

“Yeah, two’s great. See you then, Rogers.”

That night, he went out with Angie, Peggy and Sam to their favorite bar. It was small and intimate with a great tap list that attracted mostly non-student locals. Bucky was right-- they had to take their opportunities for breaks when they could. It wasn’t often that Steve took a Friday night to do anything but work or sleep.

“How’s your studio going this term?” Steve asked Peggy. He didn’t feel that familiar pang of longing seeing her, even though she was cozied next to Angie. It felt like progress.

“Alright,” she answered. “I’m not as stressed as I usually am at this point in term.” Peggy was in interiors. The program was no less rigorous, but it meant they didn’t have many shared classes. “I heard you’re working with Barnes on a project. You two kill each other yet?”

“He was a total dick to Steve in section the other day,” Angie interjected. “He basically called him a Nazi. Steve. ”

“That’s taking it a little far,” Steve was surprised to find himself saying. Why was he defending Bucky?

“Details,” Peggy said, and Angie gave her a quick rundown of the discussion.

“It was so obvious that’s not what you meant. Your point was so mundane, that modernism didn’t just stop and exist separately from the war and fascism. Duh, of course it didn’t. I hate that shit, when dudes intentionally misunderstand you and argue just to essentially make the same point in a more pretentious way.”

“Isn’t that essentially the point of architecture school?” Sam said, causing them all to laugh.

“It’s not just Bucky, it’s the whole douche crew,” Angie added. “Brock, Jasper, they all always have to make some profound point during any discussion, even though they only actually have something profound to say one out of every hundred times, if that.”

“Bucky seems to go out of his way to antagonize Steve, though,” Sam pointed out. “He’s an asshole during crits.”

“He was kinda right last time, though,” Steve muttered, taking a sip of his beer. “I mean, his suggestions were actually good.”

“I can’t believe I’m witnessing this,” Peggy teased. “Steve defending Barnes.”

Steve assured her it wouldn’t become a trend and changed the subject. It wasn’t worth dwelling on, especially considering they had to work the next day. They shifted their conversation away from school, and it was just past one when they finally parted ways.

Steve didn’t set an alarm for once, and enjoyed a glorious and nearly unprecedented ten hours of sleep. When he woke, he ate a quick breakfast (well, lunch) and hopped on his bike to studio. He worked for an hour before Bucky arrived. He suggested the library, and they brought some relevant books and their laptops into one of the larger private study rooms.

“I think I wouldn’t mind a stay in a sanatorium,” Bucky said, skimming through one of the books.

“Oh, you want tuberculosis?”

Bucky snorted. “No, I don’t want tuberculosis, punk. I just think going to the mountains or the woods or whatever in some fancy European country to lie out on lounge chairs and breathe mountain air? Doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Maybe a mental health break from architecture school.”

The way the light from the window hit Bucky’s face as he laughed made him look warm and carefree, which weren’t words Steve was used to associating with him. They spent another few hours working, and it was actually tolerable. Bucky was smart, that was one thing Steve never doubted, and he knew how to study. They both agreed that the building was overall successful and significant for its emphasis on patient comfort and connection to nature to promote healing, so there was little for them to argue about, for the most part.

“I can't believe you hate Villa Mairea,” Bucky commented after they had been working for a few hours. So much for avoiding an argument.

“Aside from that staircase, I don't really see what's particularly memorable about it,” Steve responded. “It's a single-family house for a wealthy family, of course you can throw in a lot of nice details if you're going to spend whatever and there are no constraints to the project.”

Bucky glared at him. “That is such bullshit. Architecture needs high-end projects to push the boundaries of design and generate new ideas. You act like a building like Villa Mairea is some foregone conclusion of throwing enough money at a project, but that's obviously not the case.”

Steve could feel his face getting hot already. “But what's the value in design that is only accessible to the wealthy? How is it any different from anything else ostentatious? Just because some details may be minimalist doesn't make it any more humble or noble.”

“Than what, Trump Tower or private condos in Dubai? What the hell are you even saying? If all design was affordable and available to the masses, how would anything ever advance? We have high budget projects, what is the problem with allowing designers to push the boundaries and innovate?”

“The problem is that high-profile projects with big budgets don't represent the majority of what's built. A good affordable housing project has the potential to more meaningfully impact the lives of the people using it than--”

“But there's no art to affordable housing, or market-rate for that matter,” Bucky interjected, folding his arms. (Steve steadfastly ignored the way that made his biceps look.) “You find the most efficient unit plan and cram in as many units as the developer demands based on their pro forma, you use the same kit of parts that the contractor and developer have used a thousand times. It's more of a puzzle than an actual design challenge.”

“Those are the buildings where average people spend the majority of their lives!” Steve retorted, subconsciously mirroring Bucky’s crossed-arm posture. “That's why we have designers, to be the advocate of the occupants and the environment for everyday architecture. Obviously there are multifamily projects that are more successful than others regardless of budget, some are more thoughtful. Every building can't be an icon, that's no way to make a city.”

“You don't think cities would benefit from good designers putting time and craft into each building?”

Steve shook his head. “That's the opposite of what I'm saying-- I'm saying good background buildings, the type of buildings people use everyday and that form the urban fabric and define a city, those buildings are just as important and deserve the same craft and care as conceptual iconic buildings with huge budgets. What kind of fabric would you create if every building was a testament to somebody’s ego?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Alright, even if we take your point at face value, why are you going to call out Aalto on this, of all people? His whole thing was making good design affordable to the masses.”

“Didn't exactly work out, looking at Iittala’s prices…”

“That's hardly his fault,” Bucky scoffed. “It's the same with Eames and other modernists. One of the main goals of modernism was to simplify and streamline for mass production with thoughtful, functional designs. The fact that stuff with that aesthetic designed by well-known designers is typically expensive now doesn't invalidate the original intent.”

“Yeah, I get that, but Aalto wasn't purely altruistic. He’s still guilty of ego-serving designs. He thought he knew better than the average person, that their individuality could come from his designs. He's brilliant, I'm not arguing that, but he's not free from criticism, nobody is. Starchitects are so often blinded by ego that they can't--”

“No architect could get to that level without an enormous ego! It's a part of being a strong designer-- conviction and the ideas to back it up. Sorry we can't all be as noble and humble as you.”

“Aalto literally designed a museum dedicated to himself.”

Bucky barked out a laugh, which immediately took some of the charge out of the argument. “That's the dream, isn't it?” Steve quirked a smile despite himself. “You act like you're so above it, but you're no less full of it than any of us.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Steve couldn’t help a slight tremor in his voice, because how embarrassing would it be if Bucky called him out for a reason that actually had merit?

“You call me out for arguing and refusing to back down like you aren't just as forceful with your opinions. You think because you're right that it's not egotistical or self-serving, but isn't that the point of being a strong designer? Thinking you're right and refusing to compromise your ideas? How are you any different?”

“Because I don't think that!” Bucky raised his eyebrows at him. “There's a difference between standing behind an idea and refusing to back down and standing behind the idea that architects don't know everything and should be more receptive to outside perspectives and criticisms. I would never claim to know better than anybody--”

“Bullshit!” Bucky threw his hands up. “The masses don't have design training, that's why design exists as a field of study and a profession. There are objective truths that I know you believe in-- like that proper daylighting and natural ventilation improve health, happiness and productivity, or the benefits of biophilia. Those are things that have been quantifiably studied and verified, and it's the responsibility of designers to integrate strategies that improve well-being into their designs in ways that they wouldn't be otherwise, if designed by a non-professional.” Bucky propped himself up on his elbows, intruding into Steve’s space. “I can't believe you would say you ‘would never claim to know better than anybody,’ you obviously think you know better than me.”

Steve’s mouth hung open, he didn't quite know how to respond to that.

“And those truths,” Bucky continued, “extend into the design realm. There are certain forms, proportions, plays of light, volumes, contrasts of color, whatever, that resonate with people. Civilians can enter a well-designed space and feel an emotional connection, without the design background to understand why. Designers do know better, just like doctors do. We go to school for a reason. Why are you even here if you don’t believe that?”

Steve breathed out through his nose. “You know, doctors could also stand to embrace a little humility. People suffer and die because doctors think they know better and ignore their real symptoms.”

Bucky considered. “Point taken.”

Steve leaned back in his chair. “Wow, I can't believe it, you can actually someone else’s point seriously,” he deadpanned.

Bucky stared at him. “You're a punk, you know that?”

“I'll pretend that's a compliment. Look, we need to finish this project so we can move onto other things.”

Bucky agreed, and they managed not to be at each other’s throats for the rest of their research session. Steve was still edgy from the argument, but he had to admit that some of what Bucky had said might possibly, _possibly_ have had some merit.

“So you wanna take over the graphic presentation?” Bucky suggested after a few hours. “If you include the final outline on the boards, then I can write the bulk of the essay from that and what we've already written, and you can fill in? Does that seem good?”

Steve couldn’t believe Bucky would be willing to sacrifice design control over the graphic portion, but he wasn’t about to challenge him. “Yeah, sure.” They discussed deadlines and figured out their schedules.

“You headed back to studio?”

Steve checked his phone. “Think I’m meeting Sam for dinner, but yeah, I’ll be in later.”

“Cool, man,” Bucky said as he packed up his things.

It was almost eight by the time Steve made his way back into studio, but he figured he could get in get a solid four hours of work. It was mostly empty as it was Saturday night, and even architecture students took breaks when they could afford it. Steve liked working in the quiet, and hoped that if he could get enough done, he’d be able to take the whole of Sunday off to work on other things (such as finishing his thesis proposal, but luckily he was ahead of the game on that).

By eleven, Steve had made enough progress on his elevations that he expected to leave within a half an hour. It was rare that he finished anything faster than he expected, and he grinned as he added some final shading.

So, of course, that’s when he spilled his coffee all over his drafting board.

“Shit!” he yelped, scrambling for trace paper to mop up the mess. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He wiped the coffee off the drawings and managed to get it all over his shirt instead. When he thought the bulk of the liquid had been absorbed, he ran for paper towels to clean up the final mess. It wasn’t awful -- he thought that he may still be able to pin them up after they dried-- but he was still so fucking upset with himself that he thought he might cry.

He headed to the bathroom to clean himself up, and had managed to get the whole front of his shirt damp and soapy when he heard a pounding at the door. “Shit, how long you gonna be in there? I cut myself and I need the sink.”

Steve groaned and opened the door. “I’m just cleaning myself up.” It was Bucky, who rushed to the sink to run water over his thumb. Steve winced at the amount of blood going toward the drain. “Were you actually doing something by hand for once?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Bucky answered, ignoring Steve’s sarcasm. “I laser-cut most of the model but I changed some of the design, so I had to cut a few new pieces.” He wrapped a paper towel around his finger and secured it with drafting tape.

“You know there’s a first aid kit down the hall, right?"

Bucky scoffed. “It’s almost review week, I’m sure it’s picked over.”

“Why the hell are you building a model, anyway? All we have due are elevations.”

“So I wanted to make elevation models, what’s wrong with that? You look like shit, by the way.”

He was right, Steve was a complete mess. In addition to the dark circles under his eyes, he now had a wet, coffee-stained shirt, and some of the water had splashed to front of his pants. “Thanks,” he retorted, and he went back to wiping the front of his shirt.

“You should just take it off, you’re not gonna get it clean with it on you like that.”

Steve’s face went red, he was not taking his shirt off, especially in front of Bucky. “I got it,” he responded, turning up the faucet.

“No, you should--”

“You’re going to get blood on me!”

“I’m just trying to help!”

Steve shifted to get Bucky away from him and accidentally sprayed him with a blast of cold water.

“Shit, Rogers!” Bucky yelped. “Oh my god.” He immediately tore his t-shirt off and started wringing it out. Steve caught his reflection in the mirror and tried not to blush at the fact that Bucky was actually pretty fit. That was not something he needed to be thinking about now or ever. He had put a lot of effort into ignoring the fact that Bucky was hot.

“Your fault, I do not need your help.”

“Man, I don’t have a change of shirt, and this thing is soaked. How’d you manage to get so much water on me?”

“I don’t have a change of shirt, either,” Steve responded irritably. “Obviously.”

Bucky was now waving his shirt in the air in an attempt to dry it. His shoulders were pretty impressive, too, and-- shit, different train of thought, Steve. He took a deep breath and tried to return his focus back to his own shirt.

“Dude, I’m sorry, I just--” Bucky started, crowding him against the counter to get more paper towels. “I don’t get why you’re always so mad at me.”

Steve’s eyes went wide. “You don’t, honestly?” He whipped around to face him, faltering slightly when he realized how close Bucky actually was. “You antagonize me every chance you get!”

“I don’t antagonize you--”

“Yes, you do! In section this week, you totally interrupted me and contradicted everything I said, and talked over me every time I tried to explain myself, and--”

“It’s a discussion class, I was discussing! Not my fault your opinion was completely wrong--”

“That’s not how you argue with someone in an academic setting! You looked ready to throw a punch!”

“I did my undergrad at Columbia, and sorry, but that is how you have an academic debate.”

“And you’re always bragging about fucking Columbia! Why are you even here if you care so much about being Ivy league?”

“The program here is better rated, and that’s not-- that’s not the point!”

“What is the point, then, because you’re really goddamn--”

He was cut off when Bucky grabbed him by the shoulder to bring him in for a kiss, and what the fuck. It only lasted a few seconds before Bucky was pulling away, a look of shock and horror on his face.

“I don't know why I did that, I'm so--”

Steve pulled him back down for another kiss before he could finish his thought. It was the stupidest thing he could possibly do in the situation, but he was so fucking tired and the tension within him was desperate for an outlet.

If Steve had been more awake, he might have been surprised at how quickly and eagerly Bucky responded. He was immediately shoving Steve into the counter, pawing at his shirt and raking his hand against the smooth skin of his back, groaning into his mouth. He finessed his way into Steve’s mouth with his tongue as he lifted him up onto the counter, hands moving frantically to shuck up his shirt. Steve palmed Bucky through his jeans, and he was already semi-hard, and oh my god, was he really hooking up with Bucky fucking Barnes in a dirty single-stall bathroom? Bucky’s mouth was hot against his as he fumbled with Steve’s belt, so apparently so.

“Are you sure--”

“Shut up.”

Bucky moved his way down to Steve’s collarbone, biting and kissing his skin, as he freed Steve’s cock and held it heavy in his hand. He drew his hand slowly down the shaft and across the head, and Steve bit a groan into Bucky’s shoulder.

“Wait,” Steve breathed, as he moved to undo Bucky’s jeans. He took his cock out and audibly whined, because why did such an asshole have to have such a perfect dick? He started a rhythm, reaching his other hand to Bucky’s neck and grabbing at his hair. They continued making out as they jerked each other off, and Steve’s mind went blissfully blank, unable to think of anything besides how good it felt.

Bucky came first, spilling onto Steve’s stomach and chest with a heavy grunt. He gave Steve a few more jerks, biting at his jaw, and Steve was coming so hard he felt like he might fall over (the sleep deprivation didn’t help).

When he recovered, he looked up to see Bucky staring at him, open-mouthed.

“I, uh--” Bucky started. “I’m gonna get back to work,” he said quickly, his face red and bewildered as he washed his hands.

Steve barely had time to give him a weak nod before Bucky was turning on his heel and throwing on his damp shirt as he headed out the door. What had just happened? Steve could barely focus as he cleaned himself up and put his wet, discolored shirt back on. He stared at himself in the mirror for a few moments before making his way back to studio, hoping he wouldn’t run into anybody because he was definitely wet, beet red, and possibly had come on him.

Bucky had his headphones on and was engrossed in his computer as Steve walked back to his desk, and Steve ignored him. He sat down in front of his drafting table and put on his headphones. _Just move past it_ , he told himself. He literally didn’t have time in his schedule to contemplate whatever the fuck it was that had just happened.

He looked down at his stained drawing and realized the coffee hadn’t ruined it too badly, after all. He could redraw the ruined portion, clean it up in Photoshop, and print it. He still had an extra two hours or so of work to make up for, but it wasn’t a disaster. He set himself to work.

By the time he looked back up from his desk, it was 1:30 A.M., and Bucky was gone.

The next week and a half passed uneventfully. Bucky had avoided him since the bathroom incident aside from a few emails about their project, and Steve was fine with that. With reviews approaching, everyone was ramping up their schedules, and there wasn’t time or room in his brain for Steve to worry about his personal life. He was mostly on schedule-- he had 64 hours until review, and he still had to finish three drawings, scan all of his drawings, clean them up in Photoshop, arrange them into a layout, print, and hand-render. At least his design was pretty much resolved, so he was feeling alright. He had built a model for a crit two weeks ago, and while the design had changed a bit, he thought it would be acceptable enough for his final review. There definitely wasn’t enough time for anything more than that, and he wanted to get a good night’s sleep the night before.

He looked at his schedule and saw he had given himself a generous forty five minutes for lunch. He walked over to Sam.

“You wanna grab something to eat?” he asked.

“I just got in,” Sam answered. “I slept a glorious eight hours last night, and I treated myself to an enormous pancake breakfast.”

“I’ll go with you, Steve,” answered Natasha from the adjacent studio. Natasha was incredibly brilliant and always managed to look polished despite being as sleep-deprived as the rest of them. Steve liked her, and he couldn’t figure out why she was best friends with Bucky.

“Yeah? I’m thinking I’ll just grab Chipotle.”

“Great,” she smiled. “Buck, you want me to grab you anything at Chipotle?”

Bucky looked pensive, and Steve was inwardly pleased that she wasn’t inviting him along. “Burrito? You know what I like.”

“You got it,” she answered, grabbing her purse. “Alright, Steve, let’s go.”

Over lunch, they mostly discussed their classes, projects, and various complaints about professors. As architecture students, they rarely had time for lives outside of class. The conversations generally tended toward the same topics, but it always felt good to vent.

“Have you seen the renderings Bucky’s working on?” Natasha asked. “They’re really incredible, better than the ones he showed last crit. I can’t believe how much effort he puts in for progress pin-ups.” She was right, Bucky never pinned up anything that looked unpolished. Steve rarely cared for his designs, but his presentation was always immaculate.

“He was shitting on me the other week for hand-measuring a perspective, yet he will spend four hours in Photoshop cleaning up a render just for a desk crit.”

“Everybody’s got their own priorities, I guess.” Natasha’s was building models. She always had a row of gorgeous progress models lined up on her desk, and was one of the few students whose models were often the main focus of her pin-ups. “He really likes your work, though. I know he tends to sound like an asshole during crits, but the more he has to say about a design, the more he likes it. He’s always talking about amazed he is at how quickly you can produce beautiful drawings by hand.”

“Really?” Steve asked, genuinely surprised. “I never got that impression.”

“Well, he thinks you’re good. He’s said before that you and him are the only ones taking this program seriously enough. Which is fucking rude, by the way-- just because some of us skip the occasional class doesn’t mean we aren’t busting our asses. Like anyone could survive this program without taking it seriously.”

Steve frowned at her. “Why’s he always such a dick to me, then?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, he came from a competitive Ivy League program and he spent his first year of this program doing grunt work for Alex and hanging out with Brock and Jasper and the whole douche crew. This studio is actually the first one he’s had with a professor who’s not a complete dick. I’ve managed to set him straight to some degree, but he still treats school like a competition. He’s had a rough life, so he’s always got it in him that he has to prove himself all the time. Believe me, I know he’s an asshole, but he’s a good guy deep down. I don’t say that lightly. And I don’t think he realizes that when you argue back, you’re legitimately upset. He sees you as one of the most talented people in the program, so of course he’s going to challenge you. To him it’s like lively debate.”

“Oh,” Steve responded, processing. Could that be right? It didn’t seem right...

“Think there’s probably a little pigtail-pulling, too.”

“What?”

Natasha simply grinned and stood up, wiping her hands. “Come on, we should get back.”

He worked for a steady nine hours, and was drawing the final entourage into his section perspective when music began blaring through the studio. He removed his headphones and looked up to see Sam, Natasha, Angie and seven other students doing jumping jacks in the common area.

“Join in, Stevie!” Sam yelled over the music. “We’re getting pumped up!”

“You’re going to exhaust yourselves!” he yelled back.

Steve shook his head and tried to get back to work, but his focus was shot. He was so close to a break, but he could finish the last touches on his section after he got some coffee.

He walked into the throng of exercisers, who had moved on to running in place.

“Coffee run?” he asked over the music.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Angie said, breathing hard as she stopped moving. “I think this is counter-productive, anyway, they’re just going to tire themselves out.”

“Grab me an Americano?” Bucky asked from his desk. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a five. “Please?”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve said, taking the money. “We have a hand for one more drink, anybody else?”

One of the students from Natasha’s studio requested a soy latte and handed Angie the money, and they headed out. There was only one coffee shop open this late, on the opposite side of campus, but a walk through the crisp, late autumn air was always welcome after hours sequestered in a dirty studio full of glue fumes and unshowered students.

“What’s up with you and Bucky?” Angie asked as soon as they were outside the building. “You haven’t been at each other’s throats lately, and he was acting super weird around you during the last group crit.”

Steve shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to remain nonchalant. “Uh, you know, it’s almost review week. Got a lot of other things to worry about than arguing with that asshole. How are things with you and Peggy?”

“You’re deflecting, and I know you don’t actually want to hear how it’s going with Peggy. Did something happen between you two?”

Steve sighed. He hadn’t told anyone about the bathroom incident, since Sam would tease him endlessly. Angie would too, but she'd at least keep quiet about it, and it would feel good to get it off his chest. “Uh,” he started, scratching his head, “we might have… kind of… hooked up?”

“Oh shit,” Angie snorted. “It was bound to happen eventually.”

“What do you mean?”

“Please, Barnes is hot and he’s been dying to get in your pants since he came here.”

“What? That’s-- absolutely not.”

Angie raised her eyebrows. “If you hooked up, you have to acknowledge he’s at least somewhat into you.”

“It wasn’t like that. Afterward his face went white and he ran out and has tried his hardest to ignore me, and we literally haven’t talked since then except during class and when he just gave me money for coffee. And I had always just assumed he was straight, I don’t even--”

“Did this happen at school or what?”

Steve let out an awkward laugh. “Um, in the third floor bathroom?”

Angie cackled and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, shit! Dude!”

“I know. We were already in the bathroom, so…”

“You were already together in a single stall bathroom?”

“I spilled coffee on myself and he cut his finger with an exacto, we were sharing the sink.”

“And you just started making out?”

“Basically,” Steve admitted. “We were arguing and it just kinda… happened.”

“Why does it not surprise me you were arguing?” Angie said, knocking him lightly with her shoulder. “I told you, he argues with you because he likes you. You wanna do it again?”

“I-- No. I mean, he’s hot, but…”

“You do.”

“Shut up!”

Angie continued teasing him all the way to the coffee shop, but finally let up on their way back. She promised not to say anything or act weird around them, and Steve trusted her-- she was great at bullshitting on the spot. It was a skill quickly learned in their program. They returned to studio, and the music was off by the time they got back.

“The studio next door yelled at us,” Sam explained as Steve delivered his coffee to Bucky.

“Thanks, man,” Bucky said, giving him a small smile. “Can I see what you’re working on?”

Steve’s desk was in the corner by the window, so people didn’t see his work unless they went out of their way or it was a pin-up.

“Uh, sure,” Steve agreed, trying not to be awkward. The section perspective took up most of his drafting table, and he was pretty proud of his progress. It was going to look fucking great rendered.

“Oh shit, did you hand measure this, too?”

“No,” Steve admitted. “I didn’t have time. I used a really rough SketchUp underlay, but all the detailing is by hand.”

“Little Stevie’s finally learned to use computer modeling, what a wonder.”

“Shut up.”

Bucky grinned. “Well, it looks awesome. How are you planning to present?”

“I’m scanning the line drawings to do the layout in InDesign, and then I’m printing on vellum and rendering with Copics.” He pulled out a sheet that he had used to do a test render. “Something like that,” he explained.

“Wow, it’s gonna look great.”

“Thanks.” He was about to ask Bucky what he was planning, but was preempted as Bucky started laughing.

“Holy crap, what is this?” Bucky said, pointing at the schedule pinned above Steve’s desk. “You have your time mapped out down to the minute, are you actually on track? Five hours of sleep tonight and only fifteen minutes to get dressed and shower in the morning, damn, Rogers, you really get ready in that amount of time?”

“It’s the only way I can actually know how much I can get done so I don’t over-extend myself.”

“I think you’re already over-extending yourself.”

“Aren’t we all?” Steve retorted.

Bucky smiled widely at him, actually meeting his eye for the first time since the bathroom incident. “Well,” he said after a beat, tapping the desk. “I’ll get out of your hair so you can stay on track.”

“Right,” Steve responded. “Good luck getting your stuff done.”

“Thanks, man. If I’m lucky, I think I might be able to squeeze out a whole five and a half hours of sleep before the big push.”

Steve shook his head, biting back a grin as he set back to work. He got his drawing done, scanned all his line drawings, and started on his Photoshop clean-up. Unfortunately, he forgot to set an alarm, and by the time he next looked up from his laptop, it was fifteen past two.

“Shit!” he yelped. He had missed the last bus, _fuck_ , and his apartment was at least a forty minute walk.

“You okay, Steve?” asked the student in the desk across from him.

“I missed the last bus and I don’t have my bike today.”

“Shit, that sucks. I’m on my bike, otherwise I’d offer you a ride.”

Steve saw that Sam and Natasha were already gone, and Angie lived close enough to campus to walk and didn’t have a car. There were a couple of other students in Natasha’s studio still working, but he didn’t know any of them well enough to ask for a ride.

“Did I hear you need a ride, Rogers?” Bucky asked from across the studio. “I’ve got my car, I can drive you.”

“Really? I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

“Who knows what might happen to your skinny ass if you’re forced to walk home. I don’t want that on my conscience.” Steve ignored the teasing and walked over to Bucky’s desk to ask him when he was leaving. “I was planning on staying another half hour or so,” he said. “But really, whenever. I don’t want to mess up your precious schedule. Who knows what will happen if you get four hours of sleep instead of the full five.”

“I’m sure I’ll survive. Half an hour is fine.”

“Great,” Bucky said, and Steve walked back to his desk.

When they both finished for the night, it was a tense walk back to Bucky’s car. Steve wasn’t sure what to say-- where exactly did they stand? What was the protocol for interacting with someone you kind of hated, have kind of had sex with, and see almost all day, every day? He didn’t want to bring up the bathroom incident, but he knew it was on both of their minds.

“Where do you live?” Bucky asked. Steve told him the address, which was only about ten minutes from Bucky’s place.

“This is a real shitty car,” Steve said as they approached a beat-up Volvo that looked older than Steve.

“Well, Columbia didn’t pay for itself.”

“Oh, did you go to Columbia? I hadn’t heard. You sound like Andy Bernard.”

“That was Cornell, but sick Office reference, dude,” Buck deadpanned, opening his door and reaching to unlock the passenger side. Steve rolled his eyes and got in the car. “I’m starving, is Taco Bell still open?”

“How have you made it this far into architecture school without having the hours of all local eateries’ hours memorized? It closed at 2:30. The only places open right now are Giovanni's and Pita Pit.”

“God, I hate Pita Pit.”

“It’s pretty bad,” Steve agreed. “My friend visited after mid-terms and brought me an entire freezer’s worth of homemade soup, so I’ve been subsisting on that and Chipotle for the past few weeks.”

“Friend from undergrad?”

“Nah, I did my undergrad here. A friend from Brooklyn, that’s where I grew up. We went to high school together.”

“Ah, no shit, I’m from Brooklyn, too.”

“Really, what part?”

Bucky lived in a much different area than Steve, but they spent the remainder of the car ride reminiscing over their respective childhoods and the local spots they both knew. By the time they get to Steve’s place, Steve had almost forgotten that things are supposed to be awkward between them.

“You still hungry?” Steve asked as they pulled up to his building. “I can give you a container of freezer soup if you want. I promise it’s good, I’m just getting sick of it for every meal.”

“Oh, nah, I can grab something at… Pita Pit, I guess.”

“Don’t subject yourself to that,” Steve insisted. “Take the soup, consider it payback for the ride.”

Bucky agreed and headed up to Steve’s studio apartment. It was nothing impressive, but he kept it cozy and was rather proud of it.

“Shit, Rogers, how do you keep your place so clean during review week? Our apartment looks like it was hit with a tornado.”

“You live with Natasha, right?”

Bucky nodded. “And one of her friends from undergrad, who does not appreciate the people we become toward the end of term.”

“At least you’re almost never there, right?”

“True,” Bucky agreed as Steve retrieved the soup from the freezer.

“Vegetable or three bean?” Steve asked.

“Uh, vegetable.”

“You wanna eat it here or take it home?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re trying to go to bed, it’s not--”

“I’m gonna eat some, anyway. Even if I am fucking sick of it.” He didn’t know why he was being so nice to Bucky and basically cajoling him into sticking around. It was absolutely not the time for them to get into any personal shit, and they both needed sleep. Did he actually like Bucky now? They’d barely interacted since the bathroom incident, but after talking with Angie and Natasha, maybe he was starting to see things a little differently.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll eat here if it’s no bother.”

“Cool.”

Over dinner (if you could call it dinner at three in the morning), they continued to chat about Brooklyn and the things they missed about living there. Steve eventually asked why Bucky went into architecture, and was surprised at the response.

“My family never had much money, Brooklyn is fucking expensive, and my sister used to always talk about the type of house she was gonna live in one day. She had it all planned out. She hated living in an apartment in the city, where all of us were living on top of each other. We were about to move out to a house in suburbs when my parents died, and we ended up in foster care. I was sixteen at the time, and I decided that I was gonna do whatever I could to get that house for her. I guess it’s stupid, now that I’m in the program I realize architects do not make the kind of money I imagined they did, but it gave me a goal and something to work toward after losing everything.”

“Oh,” Steve said quietly. “Sorry, I guess I always assumed you were some trust fund kid.”

“Nope. Nobody in family ever went to college, so excuse me if I brag the fuck out of making it into Columbia.”

Steve didn’t know what to say to that, wondering why he had ever judged Bucky so harshly in the first place. (Oh yeah, his bullshit, pretentious opinions, penchant for arguing, and associations with the worst people in the program.)

When Bucky finished his soup, he set the bowl on the coffee table. “So did you invite me up to, like, hook up or what?” he asked without preamble.

Steve choked on a spoonful of soup. “Oh, I, uh--”

“Oh, shit, sorry. I just assumed, I mean…”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess that is… what it looks like.” Now that they were talking about it, he couldn’t deny that the prospect seemed enticing, even if he felt like a complete idiot. Why did Bucky want to hook up with him, anyway?

“I should have known, I didn’t see it penciled into your schedule.”

Steve snorted. “Jerk.” He set his bowl down. “But now that you mention it…” He leaned in and pulled Bucky’s face toward his, giving him a slow and dirty kiss. It wasn't a good idea, but he couldn't be held accountable for his decisions this close to review.

“Smooth, Rogers,” Bucky said before diving back in for a kiss. It felt nice to do this, slow and unhurried, a stark contrast to the frantic way he'd been doing everything else in his life recently. If he wasn't so fucking tired, he would take the time to appreciate how warm and receptive Bucky felt against him. Instead he kind of felt like falling asleep.

Eventually Bucky pulled away from him, his lips red and his gaze heavy. “Okay,” he started, “this is going to sound really shitty, but I think I’m actually too tired to do this.”

“Oh thank god,” he said, letting out a breathy laugh. “Do you want to stay over, though?” he asked. “It's late.”

“You don't mind?”

“Doesn't matter if I mind, I'm not heartless.” Steve stood up and adjusted his shirt. “You made fun of me for my schedule, but I have trouble believing yours isn't even more brutal.”

“That's why I don't write it down. There's no possible way I could do everything I need to, I don't need the discouragement of confirmation.”

“You'd have a lot less pressure if you stopped sucking up to Alex.”

Bucky let out an exaggerated groan. “I absolutely do not want to think about Alex right now, or ever if I can avoid it. Where's your bathroom?”

Steve pointed him in the right direction and put on sweats and a t-shirt. They made him look about twelve years old as he preferred obnoxiously oversized clothes for relaxing, but he was too tired to care.

“You got a blanket or something?” Bucky asked as he emerged from the bathroom and headed for the couch.

“That couch is like four feet long, just sleep in the bed.”

Bucky looked like he wanted to argue, but the appeal of the bed seemed to win out. “I like your PJs,” he said with a grin.

“I know I look twelve.”

“You absolutely do not look twelve, but you do look adorable.”

Steve blushed and didn't respond, opting instead to get in bed and hide himself under the blankets.

“Is it gonna be weird if I take off my jeans?” Bucky asked.

“I know we haven't talked about it, but I have seen your dick, I think it'll be okay.”

Bucky didn't respond, but he did remove his pants. Steve didn't have the chance to feel awkward about the situation, as he was asleep within minutes.

He soon woke to the buzz and chime of his cell phone. When he rolled over to retrieve it, he realized there was a body in the way. _Oh yeah_. He was too tired to be concerned about plastering himself on top of Bucky to reach over to turn off his alarm.

He heard a groan beneath him as he fiddled with his phone, setting a snooze in case he fell back asleep before he could get up.

“What time is it?” Bucky mumbled against the pillow.

“Eight,” Steve replied.

“Oh, fuck you.” He turned and buried his head in the pillow and pulled up the sheets.

“We've got like 50 hours until review, and you at least have to leave some of that time to print. You're gonna be mad later if you don't get up.”

“I can't,” Bucky grumbled, not opening his eyes. “I'm in love with your bed. Just leave me.”

“Bucky,” Steve reached over and shook him sleepily by the shoulders. “You can't. If you do, I'll want to, and neither of us can. We gotta go.”

“I'm gonna die if I get up.” He reached up and grabbed Steve by the arm, pulling him down next to him. Steve let out a small yelp. “Two more hours. We’ll be so much more productive with a little more sleep.” He wrapped his arms around Steve. “‘M holdin’ you hostage.”

“This is a bad idea,” he yawned, but even as he said it, he knew he was going to give in. “Two hours, that's it.”

Bucky was already back asleep as Steve reset his alarm. He was still curled around him, holding him in place, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was warm and good and…

Steve woke again to the sound of the alarm. He let out an exaggerated groan, how the fuck had it been two hours already?

“Fuck me,” he sighed.

“No time,” Bucky muttered from behind him.

Steve let out a sleepy snort. He forced himself to roll out of bed before he could change his mind and scrambled into the bathroom for a quick shower. When he came out, Bucky had his pants on and had apparently ravaged his kitchen.

“Sorry, I needed coffee,” he explained, holding out a mug for Steve.

“Thanks,” Steve replied. “You wanna shower?”

“‘M good. I mean, I stink, but I'll survive. It's only a two days more-- oh god, I'm gonna regret not showering, aren't I?”

“Well, I assume you're not planning on taking a break until you're printed, and that's over a day away.”

He nodded and downed the rest of his coffee. Steve found him a towel and searched for a t-shirt large enough to fit him (it hadn't escaped his notice that Bucky had been wearing them same outfit for the past two days). When they were both relatively clean, fed and caffeinated, Bucky drove them back to studio.

“Thanks again for letting me stay over,” Bucky said as they pulled into the parking lot. “My bed is shit and Nat never lets me snooze no matter how much I beg, and I absolutely needed the sleep.”

“I think it was a full seven hours. That's basically a normal night’s sleep.”

“How's your schedule?”

“I'm behind, but I could always leave a few perspectives as line drawings. Should save a couple of hours.”

Bucky nodded and they headed up to studio. Everyone was too engrossed in work to consider anything odd about them coming up together. When he got to his desk, Steve put on his headphones and decided to work until his stomach or bladder couldn't take it anymore.

Eventually, Angie and Sam approached him to go out for food, and they headed to a Chinese restaurant just off campus.

“You guys planning on sleeping before review?” Angie asked when they were seated in a large booth.

“Yup,” Steve answered. “It sucks to work your ass off only to give a shitty presentation and absorb very little of the review.”

“True that,” Sam agreed. “I’m printing by 8:00 p.m. tomorrow and then I'm going to bed. Steve, I don't know how you're even alive, let alone how you can seem this awake. You haven't gotten more than five hours of sleep a night in like two weeks, and your average is closer to three.”

“I got seven hours last night.”

Angie dropped her mouth open in mock shock. “Seven hours! What luxury, how will you ever manage to finish after so much time off?”

“You laugh but to Steve that is a serious luxury” Sam said. “What, sleep through your alarm?”

Steve contemplated his response. “Yeah, kind of. I was cajoled into it.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Angie asked. “Do you mean what I think you mean?” Steve blushed and said nothing. “Holy shit, I knew it.” She barked out a laugh. “I knew it! Oh my god, Steve. Oh my god. ”

“What?” Sam asked.

“Steve slept with Bucky.”

“We _just_ slept.”

Angie cackled and Sam’s eyes went wide with shock. “I feel like I'm missing something.”

“I missed my bus, Bucky gave me a ride, we were tired…”

“Steve, you can't hold out on Sam. He's your best friend.” Steve sighed and motioned for her to continue, since she so desperately wanted to. “Steve and Bucky hooked up,” she sang.

“What.”

“It wasn't a big thing! We were both super tired and hyped up on stress, it didn't mean anything.”

“Okay, so then, last night…”

“I missed my bus,” Steve repeated. “And he offered me a ride and he was hungry, so I offered him some soup and then it was late, so I let him sleep over. It wasn't a big thing.”

“Okay,” Sam responded, processing. “But. You hate Bucky.”

Steve squinted. “Do I?”

“Yes,” Angie and Sam both answered.

“Well, he's still an asshole in most respects,” Steve said. “But I don't know, I get where he's coming from. He told me he's from Brooklyn, we talked about that, his parents died while he was still a kid and that's part of why he went into architecture. I just assumed he was from an upper-class family like the rest of the douche crew, but he's not. And Alex is such a dick to him, it makes sense that he'd be a little abrasive.” He looked down at the table. “He's alright.”

“I never thought I'd see the day,” Sam replied, shaking his head.

“This is truly a moment in history,” Angie agreed.

“Shut up,” Steve laughed. “Anyway, I can't really think about it right now. We still have to finish our history project, though, so we'll have to interact before break.”

“So you can fuck,” Angie sing-songed.

“You're embarrassing him,” Sam said. “Look how red he is.”

“Don't forget he basically insinuated you were a Nazi, though,” Angie added. “I'm all for you guys hooking up, but he also needs someone to tell him when to shut the fuck up.”

Sam let out a loud laugh. “Oh, Steve should have no problem with that.”

Steve suggested they switch topics and they kindly agreed. They filled up on enormous portions of Chinese food, preparing for the final push.

Steve decided not to allow himself any distractions aside from the required meals, and worked until he was ready to print. He had been awake for twenty-two hours by that point, but he felt good and alert. He would have the entire afternoon to render, so he should be in bed by a reasonable hour. His body thrummed with adrenaline-- it was so rare that he actually felt good about where he was at this close to review. The print queue was several hours, which meant he could spend some of that time updating his existing model to match the changes to his design and even sneak in a break while he waited for his drawings to print so he could begin rendering.

There were several couches on the fourth floor mezzanine informally made into a dedicated quiet zone for students needing a break. He thought there might be a couch free at this hour, since it was the middle of the day, so he could sneak in a power nap. As he walked up the stairs to the mezzanine, he heard the sounds of strained breathing. He turned the corner to find Bucky curled up in the landing, his eyes red as he struggled to breathe.

“Bucky, hey,” Steve said quickly, crouching down and putting a hand on his arm. “You're okay. You're gonna be okay. Do you have any medication I can get for you? Do you need anything?” Bucky shook his head, looking pained. Steve imagined he was embarrassed. “Can you follow my breathing?”

Steve steadied himself and focused on his breath, encouraging Bucky to follow.

“I’m so fucked,” Bucky choked, as soon as his breathing evened out. “I can't-- there's no way--”

“What do you have left to do? Let's figure it out.”

Bucky let out a pained groan. “I still have to render all of my perspectives, which is gonna hog up my machine for at least a few hours, clean up the plans and sections, and supposedly build a model, but I've already abandoned that.” He sighed into his hands, posture still tense. “But I also have all this shit to get together for Alex today and finish my thesis proposal draft by Friday,” he muttered, wiping tears from his face. “And I have four hours of undergrad reviews in...” he looked at his phone and let out a manic laugh, panic taking over. “Forty minutes. So that's awesome, that's just fucking--”

“Hey,” Steve said, “breathe with me.” After a few moments Bucky’s breath evened again. “Who are your reviews for?”

“First years,” he answered, barely holding back a sob.

“I'll do your reviews for you. Don't worry about that.”

“Steve, you can't--”

“I'm printing right now. If I don't get time to render everything it won't really affect my review, I can always render later if I want it for my portfolio. I've got time, I promise.”

“I can't ask--”

“You're not asking. It’s taken care of, so let's worry about the other stuff you have to do. Do you have a layout for your boards yet?”

Bucky nodded, sniffling. “Sort of. It's just placeholders and some of the stuff will need to change based on the final graphics.”

“Placeholders of your most recent design?”

“Well, yeah, but--”

“Bucky, there is no way in hell you’re going to fail studio this term. Do you have the required legible drawings on a board that could be printed right now?”

“That's not--” Steve raised his eyebrows. “Fine, technically, yes, but--”

“If you printed right now would it still be better than half of the projects pinned up?”

Bucky let out a laugh that was half sob. “Thought you hated my projects?”

“Don't get cocky.” Steve couldn't help his smile. “Would it?”

“I mean, yeah, okay--”

“Okay then.” Steve then asked about what remained for him to do for Alex and his thesis proposal. Bucky’s anxiety slowly deflated as they talked through it, and eventually his breathing returned to normal. He hadn't stopped crying, but Steve knew how it went-- sometimes with enough anxiety and fatigue you just can't turn it off.

“Oh my god, I'm such a fucking mess,” Bucky hiccuped, wiping his eyes again. “I'm so sorry, I know you have a shit-ton of work to do.”

“I cry every term, so does pretty much everybody. And I'm pretty sure at least half of the students in the program are battling pretty serious anxiety.” It wasn't an exaggeration. “Can I see your phone?”

“Why?”

“To text Natasha, I have to go to first year reviews.”

“Don't bother Nat,” Bucky said, sounding pained. “She doesn't have time to deal with my shit.”

Steve raised his eyebrows and put his hand out, and Bucky reluctantly handed him the phone. Steve sent out a quick text explaining the situation, and she answered that she'd be right down.

“You're gonna be okay, Bucky. Nobody in the program works harder than you, and the professors know it, even Alex. Whatever you're able to get done, it's gonna be alright.”

Bucky left out a breath as he nodded, but he didn’t say anything. They sat together quietly for several moments before Natasha appeared.

“Wow, look at you,” she said with a smirk. “You’d almost suspect you were a human being and not a robot programmed to kill itself every term with impossible expectations.”

“You're an asshole,” Bucky choked, cracking a smile.

She extended her hand down to him. “C’mon. Let's get milkshakes down at the Commons before they close.” He accepted her hand and stood up. “They're motivational.”

Bucky nodded, and then turned to Steve, looking pained and apologetic.

“I gotta get to reviews,” Steve said before Bucky could say anything, since guilt was written plainly on his face and there was no use in letting him stew. “Catch you guys later.”

Steve actually liked doing undergrad reviews-- he normally signed up to do them, but had decided that since they were happening the day before his own review this term, he ought to not overextend himself. He checked in with the professors and explained he was filling in for Bucky and got his schedule of students. Most of them were panel reviews, which was a little less taxing than one-on-one, since he wasn't the only one giving feedback.

“Hey, Steve,” Peggy said, midway through reviews. He had noticed her earlier reviewing interiors students, but this was the first time they were both free to chat. “I thought you said you weren't doing any undergrad reviews this term?”

“I wasn't,” Steve replied, scratching his head.

Peggy rolled her eyes and shot him a grin. “Meaning you volunteered to take the place of somebody else?” He shrugged. “So altruistic. Who are you sparing this time? Don't tell me it's one of the douche crew.”

“Uh,” Steve started, and she let out a laugh.

“Oh, Steve,” she sighed. “Who is it?”

“Bucky,” Steve admitted, and her eyebrows rose just slightly. “He's got way too much on his plate, Alex’s been even rougher than usual. He was mid-anxiety attack about forty minutes ago, I didn't really have much of a choice. Not that I mind,” he added after a pause. “It's a public service, right? When doesn't he make undergrads cry at crits?”

Peggy laughed hard at that. “You're right, they don't know how lucky they are to be spared.” She looked up at the clock on the wall. “My next review’s in five, I should get over there. Hope your project is going alright. You seem relatively chipper and sane, so I expect you're doing fine.”

“Yeah, I'm doing alright this term. How about you? Since your makeup and hair is always immaculate no matter how long you've been up and how stressed you are, it's hard to tell.”

“Part of the mystery,” she smirked. “See you later, Steve.”

He nodded his goodbye and got back to his own reviews. It wasn't a bad break, really, to get himself out of his own head and project for awhile. By the time the reviews were over, he was still feeling pretty confident that he would finish most of what he wanted to on-time, aside from a few renderings. He picked up his boards from the printer and headed up to studio, working steadily until evening, when he decided to call it a night. A decent amount of sleep was always welcome before reviews.

When he woke the next morning, he felt his usual nerves, but managed to pull himself together enough to put on a nice, business professional outfit and ensure that he looked competent and prepared. It was always an odd transformation to see students that hours previously had been run ragged from lack of sleep and hygiene suddenly show up prim and professional.

After he pinned up, he still had twenty minutes to kill before any of the reviews started.

“Hey, Steve,” Sam called. “Can you tell me if this straight?”

“Wow, these look great,” he said. “A little to the left and down.”

“Thanks, dude. That good?”

“Up just a hair.” Sam made the adjustment. “Perfect.”

He stepped back to stand next to Steve and inspect his own handiwork. “I'm feeling pretty good about this,” he admitted with a wide smile.

“That wall section is kickass,” Steve agreed. “Your roof system ended up great. And the daylighting model is awesome, I can't believe you found the time to finish it.”

Sam nodded, still beaming. “How's your stuff looking?”

When they turned to go back to Steve's boards, they noticed Bucky had arrived and was pinning up. His posture was a little tense, but he was immaculately dressed and styled like always. It was almost impossible to believe the sobbing mess he had been less than 24 hours ago.

“Need any help?” Sam asked.

Bucky turned around. “Yeah, can you tell me if this is straight?”

Bucky's boards looked stunning, and Steve knew he shouldn't be surprised. A few of the perspectives were left unrendered, but with selective textures applied in Photoshop. Steve expected they had been produced as a result of lack of time, but they were more expressive than the photoreal renderings, anyway. Steve still didn't care for the design, but he understood Bucky’s concept well after spending an entire term in the same studio, and it was incredibly well-executed.

“Nice job,” Steve said.

Bucky flushed. “Thanks,” he replied, sounding uncharacteristicalIy humble. “I, uh, I couldn't have done it without your help. You really saved my ass. Yesterday.”

“Seriously, don't mention it,” he said, and felt that he meant it. He was well-rested, happy with his project, and the reviews yesterday had gone well, so he had no reason to complain.

“What did you do?” Sam asked.

“I--”

“He talked me down from a panic attack, took on four hours of crits I had to do, and cajoled Natasha into buying me a milkshake to calm down.”

“The milkshakes were all Nat,” Steve said, blushing.

“Damn, Rogers,” Sam laughed. “Do you have to be so benevolent every term? You make us all look like selfish assholes in comparison.”

Steve shook off the compliment with a shy smile and suggested they look around at the other projects. He felt lighter than he had in weeks, but the usual nerves in his gut for his impending review still fluttered. He was able to watch several other students present before it was time for his own crit, including Angie’s. She’d been ripped apart all term for her lack of focus, so he was impressed that she’d managed to pull together a decent project. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, since she was brilliant when she put her mind to it. The feedback wasn’t great, but it wasn’t scathing, either, and Angie looked happy when it was over.

He had mixed feelings about his own panel of reviewers. He had Alex, which sucked, but he also had Maria and Nick, who always give good feedback, and a visiting architect he didn’t know. He managed to calm his nerves as he walked through his project, a quiet confidence in his tone. The initial response was positive, and he let out a small sigh of relief. The first comments tended to dictate the direction of the entire review, and they were off to a good start. There are a few criticisms that he took to heart-- things he realized he should have done but didn’t-- but overall, it was good.

When the reviewers got up to leave, Angie hurried up to him and wrapped him in a hug.

“You did awesome!” she said, squeezing him tight. “I’m so glad they weren’t assholes and actually appreciated your project!”

“Thanks,” he replied, stepping away. “Do you know how Sam’s review went?” They’d been presenting at the same time.

“It started out well, but then I came over here. Let’s go find out.”

Sam looked pleased and relieved, and they gave each other a warm hug. It was over. They still had finals to worry about, and of course their thesis studios next term, but they were going to revel in the reprieve for as long as possible. They chatted for a few minutes about their feelings on being done, until Steve overheard Bucky presenting.

“I’m gonna see how Bucky’s review is going,” he said to Angie and Sam, and they followed him to watch the presentation.

It wasn’t the best review. In Steve’s opinion, they focused too much on one aspect of the design that wasn’t critical to Bucky’s overall concept. It wasn’t bad, necessarily, but he knew Bucky put a lot of thought and care into aspects of the project they weren’t talking about. That’s how it went, sometimes-- you worked your ass off all term to lackluster feedback.

When he finished, he looked happy, anyway. Steve watched as Natasha embraced him in a hug and whispered something in his ear, causing him to laugh.

“Good presentation,” Steve said, coming up to him and giving him a smile. “Sorry the reviewers focused so much on the mezzanine circulation, I know that wasn’t exactly the most important part of your design.”

Bucky shrugged it off. “Yeah, well, at least it was mostly positive. I’m just glad to be done.”

“Cheers to that,” Angie said. “I’m ready to get plastered.”

Natasha shook her head in agreement. “There are two bottles of vodka in our apartment calling my name. You guys want to come over for drinks after?”

The group of them, plus a few other students, headed over to Natasha and Bucky’s apartment after they all pinned down. It was still relatively early, but Steve was ready to drink and then fall asleep by maybe 7:00pm. Natasha could make a mean cocktail from cheap ingredients, and all of them ended up drinking more than they should.

“How long are you guys hanging out?” asked Natasha and Bucky’s other roommate, some hours later. “I’m having people over at ten.”

“At ten?” Natasha groaned. “You know we just finished reviews, right?”

“Yeah, and you guys have been assholes to me for the past two weeks and done zero housework, so I’m having people over and you’re going to deal.” She walked out of the room.

“Yikes,” Sam said.

“She’s got a point,” Bucky said from his relaxed position on the couch. “We owe her, she’s been more than tolerant, and her friends are nice.”

Steve decided not to stay too long after that. His bed was calling his name, and he preferred to spend at least the next 24 hours after he got home from review doing absolutely nothing but sleeping, waking up to watch TV, and eating. It was a well-honed routine, one that he looked forward to every term.

Peggy gave him a ride home and he immediately fell into his bed, clothes and all. He was asleep before he could think better of it, and woke up nine hours later feeling groggy and disoriented. He looked at his clock and saw it was five in the morning. He groaned, peeled himself off the bed, and made himself shower, eat, brush his teeth, and put on pajamas. He felt comfortable and cozy as he he crawled back into bed and slept for another five hours. He woke up again to see he had a bunch of missed texts, the majority from Bucky.

_Bucky: regret what i said about roommate. she is lucifer and I do not deserve this_

_Bucky: they’re blasting vengaboys. VENGABOYS_

_Bucky: this is intentional. it’s past midnight and I haven’t slept yet and i've been awake like sixty hours and I’m gonna die and the last thing i’m gonna hear before i go is THE VENGABUS IS COMING blasting through the wall_

_Bucky: omfg u are so smart for living alone_

_Bucky: update: got two hours of sleep but now i’m up and it’s quiet and i can’t even blame roommate. bed is an abomination. couch has a drunk person on it_

_Bucky: update x2: have u been sleeping this whole time or are u ignoring me???? either way fuck u_

_Bucky: update x3: can’t get we like to party out of my head. I slept 4 more hours but it was a shitty sleep. I was dreaming of CAD and 3dsmax. happens every term. Duck you and your bed_

_Bucky: fuck*_

_Bucky: uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh_

Steve couldn’t help laughing to himself. The last text was dated an hour ago.

_Steve: Just woke up, sorry I missed your texts. I slept 14 hours :-)_

He got back a string of expletives and emojis that generally communicated anger.

_Steve: You texting me for an invite to my bed? Cause you could just ask._

_Bucky: sam told us all about ur post-review ritual of sleep and more sleeping. couldn’t intrude just want to complain to u cause fuck u and ur quiet apartment and ur comfortable bed honestly_

_Steve: Just come over._

It was a few minutes before he got a reply. He saw that Bucky was typing, then stopping, and tried not to feel nervous.

_Bucky: u sure?_

Steve didn’t give himself a chance for second guessing.

_Steve: If you bring food. Too lazy to get anything and too cheap for delivery._

It was another few minutes before he got a reply.

_Bucky: pizza or thai?_

Steve fell asleep again waiting for Bucky, and woke up to the buzzing of the door. He cursed at himself for not trying to make himself presentable and went to let Bucky up. As soon as he was through the door, he threw the pizza on the counter and barreled straight for Steve’s bed, flopping onto it with a dramatic groan.

“Fuck everyone in the world,” he said into Steve’s sheets.

“Take off your shoes,” Steve instructed as he dished himself a few slices of pizza. He went to sit on the edge of the bed next to Bucky. “You gonna eat before you sleep?”

Bucky turned his head to look up at him, looking exhausted and kind of adorable. “Can you just shove it down my throat so I’m somehow sleeping and eating pizza at the same time?"

“No.”

“Then I’m just gonna sleep.” He turned his head back into the pillow and made good on his promise. Steve finished his pizza, put the rest in the fridge, and joined him back in bed.

“Shove over,” he said. “And it’s comfier under the covers.”

Bucky grunted as he obliged, letting out a happier groan when he sank back into the sheets. “Thank you,” he said, curling up before falling back asleep.

Having already slept a considerable amount, Steve pulled out his laptop and put on Netflix. He made it a couple hours before he inevitably drifted off, and it was starting to get dark by the time he awoke again. Bucky was still plastered to the bed, and Steve couldn’t help smiling at the sight. It was odd to think about how much he genuinely hated Bucky at the beginning of term, because now he had to admit, he appreciated the sight of him in his bed.

He got up to eat more pizza and take another shower. By the time he emerged from the bathroom, Bucky was awake and eating cold pizza.

“Thank you so much,” he said through a mouthful of food. He swallowed. “I hate not being able to relax after reviews, but I feel a lot better now. By the way, it’s unfair that you look so cute and cozy right now while I look like garbage.”

“You don’t look like garbage.” He looked rumpled from sleep and exhaustion, but he definitely didn’t look like garbage.

Bucky gave him a small grin and took another bite of pizza. “What do you wanna do? More pizza, watch a movie, have sex?”

Steve startled at the blunt suggestion, but he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t part of the reason Bucky was here. “Are you awake enough for sex?” Steve asked honestly.

“For you?” Bucky smirked, setting down his plate and coming up to Steve. “Yes.” He leaned down and kissed him, sweet and simple. His breath was somewhat awful, and he could feel Bucky’s fatigue, but it was still nice. Steve turned and dragged Bucky back to the bed, letting himself be pushed back into the sheets.

They kissed slow and languid, and it was awhile before either of them were hard, but it was good, like they had been doing this forever. It was a far cry from the fumbled bathroom handjobs of a few weeks ago. They both still had their clothes on, softly rutting against each other, when Bucky put his hand on Steve’s dick and bit his jaw and the energy shifted. Suddenly Steve was filled with want, the need to get off now, and he scrambled with Bucky’s shirt. As soon as it was off, Bucky tugged at Steve’s, and they got naked through cut off moans and kisses. Bucky’s dick was as beautiful as he remembered it, he wanted it inside of him, but his need was too urgent. Bucky seemed to be on the same page as he pressed his cock against Steve’s, wrapping his hand around the both of them as best he could. His gaze was intense as he jerked them off, and Steve was helpless to do anything but stare back up into his eyes.

His orgasm hit him by surprise, and he came with a choked off moan, arching his back and screwing his eyes shut. Bucky let out a desperate whine, his pace becoming erratic as he came all over Steve’s chest. When he finished, he flopped down next to Steve, keeping one arm draped over him. Steve grabbed a towel to wipe them off, and then settled into a post-coital daze.

“Holy shit,” Bucky said after a few minutes, disturbing the peaceful silence. “Is that, like, a shrine to Christopher Alexander?”

“It’s a bookshelf,” Steve stated. Of course Bucky would give him shit for--

“Right next to your bed, filled with what appears to be exclusively books by Christopher Alexander.”

“It’s my to-read list,” Steve explained, slightly irritated. “My thesis is based on A Pattern Language, with some of the ideas applied to urban typologies and modern placemaking at a streetscape level.”

“Uh huh,” Bucky said, and Steve could hear the shit-eating grin behind his tone. “That’s very… quaint.”

Steve scowled at the ceiling. “You’re really gonna give me shit right now?”

“I’m just saying, isn’t it a little… antiquated?”

Steve bit his lip, trying to reign in his temper. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

“You into that?” Bucky responded, pressing his dick toward Steve’s ass.

“Oh my god,” Steve said, unable to hide his laugh as he squirmed away. He couldn’t help himself from launching into a defense. “This notion that Christopher Alexander’s work is folksy or behind-the-times that some people have ignores the basis of what his work is about, which is a kit of parts of timeless design principles based in what has proved successful in cities and dwellings for hundreds of years. There’s no denying that many of the patterns he explores resonate on both an experiential and functional level. Just because they’re based in ‘antiquated’ modes of design and construction doesn’t mean they can’t easily be translated to a modern context-- I’m hardly the first person to do or suggest that. Timeless doesn’t mean antiquated. Have you even read A Pattern Language?”

Bucky shifted. “I mean, not the entire thing,” he admitted. “I get the idea, and it’s a compelling framework for structuring design ideas, but the patterns are so basic. People like parks and street cafes-- no shit. I’m not going to deny that it’s an influential work, but we’ve graduated beyond the types of patterns he proposes. Contemporary design problems are more nuanced and complex than ever before in history and, by nature, they require a more nuanced and complex approach.”

“Are you kidding me?” Steve said, not even trying to hide his irritation. “We’re ‘graduated beyond’ basic design principles rooted in hundreds of years of history? Context changes, but people don’t. Good design principles stay relevant, and many are cross-cultural, and cross-generational. Translating some of those ideas to a modern context is literally, like, the main topic of my thesis.”

“Okay, but--”

“And A Pattern Language is based in the idea that many of the most successful places are created by the people. It is widely acknowledged that participatory design that engages users and the community yields more successful, sustainable projects, are you really gonna fight me on that?”

“Of course not,” Bucky retorted. “That’s not what I’m saying.” He wrapped his arm tighter around Steve. “You know, for someone who complains that I don’t listen, you’re not so good at it, yourself.” He planted a soft kiss under Steve’s ear. “You drive me completely crazy, you know that?”

The feeling was mutual. Bucky’s criticism of his thesis topic had him worked up, and he rolled over to channel his frustration into a harsh kiss. “You drive me crazy, too,” he murmured, and for all that Bucky irritated him, he was great at making out.

Before they could progress to anything sexual, Bucky confessed he was tired again, and Steve let him sleep. He, on the other hand, was feeling too restless to stay in bed. He got up and put his lounging clothes back on and set himself to domestic tasks-- he cleaned and cooked up dinner, all trying to keep quiet enough not to wake Bucky. Their sleep schedule was fucked-- they were both going to be wide awake as soon as it hit a reasonable time to go to sleep, but Steve found he didn’t mind too much. He made a lasagna, figuring the leftovers would propel him through finals week, and then climbed back into bed with a book (for class, unfortunately, but after so much relaxing, he found he didn't mind).

Bucky didn't stir until the oven timer went off. “The fuck?” he groaned.

“I made lasagna,” Steve said, getting up to remove it from the oven.

“How are you even real?”

Steve chuckled. “Well, I did pretty much spend 24 hours in bed. Figured it would be a good idea to do some favors for future me and give myself some food and a clean apartment before finals.”

“Smart,” Bucky said. “Do you mind if I use your shower?”

Steve nodded and found him a towel. He then prepared a salad as he waited for the lasagna to cool. When Bucky emerged, clean and refreshed, they sat down to dinner.

“I can leave after this, if you want,” Bucky said as they ate. “I didn’t mean to intrude for so long, and I’m feeling much better.”

Steve shrugged. “Well, you don’t have to. It’s kind of late.” It wasn’t, really, it was only 8:00pm, and neither of them were likely to be going back to sleep anytime soon.

“Okay,” Bucky replied with a shy smile.

After they ate, they climbed back in bed to have sex again, which they followed with more TV. Not a bad way to spend a lazy evening.

“We still have to work on our history project,” Bucky said sometime in the middle of the night.

Steve groaned. “Why are you the way that you are?”

Bucky chuckled against Steve’s neck. “And I don't know about you, but I've still got a fuck-ton of work to do for my thesis proposal.”

“That I'm actually on top of,” Steve said. “I planned it all out over the summer and wrote the proposal earlier this term. I'm just gonna give it a final once over before I turn it in.” He paused. “I'm surprised you still have work to do on it, you're always on top of your shit.”

“Fucking Alex,” Bucky groaned. “He rejected my first ten proposals and basically forced me into molding my thesis to fit his research. It's all about current trends in algorithm-aided design and it's fine but it's gonna be so dated within just a few years, because technology is always changing. I'd rather do something that I could stand by, something that matters.”

Steve rolled over to face him. “Bucky, you don't have to base your thesis off of what fucking Alexander Pierce wants.”

“I know, I know, but it's too late to do anything about it. I'll suffer through, he'll write me a good reference and hopefully recommend me for that internship, and it'll be fine.”

“Do you even want to work at his firm? All of the partners are like him.”

Bucky let out a breath. “They're a big-name firm.”

“That doesn't answer the question.”

“Well, I don't know what you want me to do about it,” he huffed. Steve was sympathetic-- Bucky had suffered a lot of abuse as Alex’s lackey, it was a lot to give up on.

“Your future isn't decided yet. You haven't actually done your thesis studio yet.” He had a flash of insight. “What if you took a year off?” he suggested. “Get some real working experience, take the time to figure out what you really care about, and then come back with fresh eyes. You wouldn't be going into it already burnt out like the rest of us. Do your thesis studio with a professor who actually cares about you and about architecture.”

Bucky took a moment before responding, “I couldn't.”

“Why not?”

“It's-- that's so impulsive. I'm already on this track and--”

“But you don't want to be on this track.” He shifted closer to Bucky. “It won't make much of a difference financially, right? You’d be paying the same amount of tuition, and if you started working now, it would be a similar position to what you could find right out of school with no experience. This way, you'd come out of school with a year of work and IDP hours under your belt and a thesis project you can actually care about and stand behind. You'd be better-positioned to find a permanent position you really want.”

Bucky sighed. “I appreciate what you're saying, but I don't think it could work.”

“Just think about it.”

“Can I think about it after we watch ten more episodes of Bob’s Burgers?”

“You really will think about it later?”

Bucky groaned and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Yes, fine. I’ll think about it.”

Steve smiled and clicked play on the next episode.

 

* * *

 

**2 Months Later**

 “Barnes, what are you doing here, I thought you quit school?”

The question came from Sharon, a student in Steve’s year who was visiting a friend in his studio.

“I didn't quit. ”

“He postponed,” Natasha interjected, coming up to him and taking the bag of take-out from his hands. “And now that he's not in school, I've got him whipped to bring me snacks. It's a pretty sweet deal.”

“Not like I have a real job or anything,” Bucky muttered. “And this is not for your benefit today, you totally don't deserve it after you woke me up at 2:00 a.m. to whine and cry about---”

“Hey!” Natasha interrupted. “You're gonna compromise my cool and collected persona, that shit stays in the apartment.”

“Is that Thai?” Steve asked, coming up from his desk to inspect the bag.

“Yes, got your favorite.”

“Oh my god, thank you.” He pulled out a large container of yellow curry. Natasha was already spooning rice onto their plates.

“You're letting Barnes bring you food now?” Sharon asked. “Thought you guys were like, enemies.”

“They're both total softies deep down and also huge nerds, it was only a matter of time before they got over themselves and realized they're perfect for each other,” Natasha answered. “Where the fuck is my tofu?”

“It's salad rolls today,” Bucky said. “Told you, not for your benefit.”

“Steve, what kind of heathen are you to prefer salad rolls over fried tofu?”

“Did I hear salad rolls?” Sam asked, taking off his headphones and wandering over to the common area. Steve handed him one, which he took eagerly.

“You all disgust me,” Natasha said.

“Thanks for the salad rolls,” Steve said to Bucky. “Feel free to take my preferences over Nat’s anytime.”

Natasha glared at them. “I know where you both sleep.”

“I think that's a serious threat,” Sam whispered loudly.

Bucky scoffed. “Nat is also a softy--”

“And also combat-trained.” She raised her eyebrow at him.

“Okay, okay,” he conceded. “Next time, salad rolls and fried tofu.” Natasha and Steve high-fived. Bucky groaned. “I knew you two being friends was a dangerous idea.”

They sat down to lunch together, until Bucky announced he needed to head back to work. As he was packing up his things, Alex wandered by the studio.

“James,” Alex said with false cheerfulness. “I thought you had quit.”

Steve knew Alex knew that wasn't the case, and that he was just looking for a reaction. Bucky seemed frozen to the spot, and Steve was about to jump to his defense when Sharon answered, “He postponed.” She looked at Bucky and smiled. “He was just describing it to us, it sounds really awesome. We're all jealous he got a position like that without a degree yet, and the experience will be really lucrative when he graduates.” Steve gave her a private grin. He knew she hated Alex as much as the rest of them.

“Is that so?” Alex said tightly. “Let's hope you do actually graduate.”

“Buck’s got the best grades in our year,” Steve answered. “And he was able to get a full-time paying job already.”

“I'm doing well,” Bucky said, finding his voice. “I realized I had let the program get to me, and I lost sight of what really mattered.” He fixed Alex with a hard stare. “Now that I'm able to take a step back from it, I can get a better idea of where I want my career to go. I'm doing much better than I was last term.”

Steve could see the irritation in Alex’s face, but he knew that he wouldn't try to call Bucky out in these circumstances. He would never risk losing face in front of students. “Well,” he said. “That's great, then, isn't it?”

“Yeah, it is,” Bucky said, as Steve found his hand and gave him a squeeze of support. Alex made small talk with them for a few more minutes before retreating, and Steve was glad to see him go.

“Why is he always such a turd?” Sharon said as soon as he was gone. “You’re so lucky you’re no longer doing work for him.”

Bucky gave her an exaggerated nod, readily agreeing. “You can thank Steve here for finally bringing me to my senses.” He dropped a kiss to his forehead.

“Sap,” Steve muttered, blushing.

The rest of the year, Bucky supported him and Natasha by bringing in snacks and maybe, occasionally, helping out to build site model or offer up his laptop for renderings. It was nice, having someone to rely on who fully understood the demands of the program, but who wasn't burdened with the same levels of stress. Bucky's work schedule rarely exceeded forty hours a week, and it gave Steve hope that he could regain his free time and learn to relax after he graduated. Bucky was like a different person without the pressures of the program spreading him too thin, and Steve could barely believe that he once thought his funny, charming boyfriend was a pretentious stick in the mud.

Of course, Bucky was still pretentious as shit, but eventually Steve had come around to the idea that they kind of all were. It was a little bit impossible not to be. They never learned to stop arguing, but when it mattered, Bucky was there for him, and Steve tried his best to offer the same support.

"You ready to face the real world of architectural practice?" Bucky asked him the night of graduation, when they were cozied up in Steve's bed, warm and happy after a few too many drinks.

"I know I'm probably going to regret saying it's a relief after I've been working awhile, but it's a relief. I feel like I'll finally be able to breathe." He rolled over to look at Bucky. "What about you? You ready to launch yourself back into school?"

Bucky nodded. "I should be alright. Got hardly any classes aside from studio, and I feel good about it. Like I'll actually be able to handle it. Much better than your anxious ass did, anyway."

Steve shoved him. "You're gonna do great. And assuming I can hold down this new job, I'll be here."

Bucky responded by kissing him. "Yeah." He snuggled into Steve's side, holding him close. "Me too."

**Author's Note:**

> This is all based on my personal experience as an architecture student and working in architecture. Different schools and programs vary a lot, people have different experiences, but I tried to keep this as true to life as I could.


End file.
